


Insistence

by Moit



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home from training, Faramir wants some action, but Frodo is fresh from the bath and decidedly not in the mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insistence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [claudia603](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/gifts).



> The birthday card attached to this fic reads: 
> 
> Dear Claudia,   
> I know you wanted Aragorn for your birthday, but he didn't fit in the box. :( So instead I wrote you this fic on the airplane on my way back from Baltimore. It was done before I got home and I've been keeping it a secret ever since. (Believe me, it was HARD!) So I hope you enjoy the realisation of the fic we brainstormed in Bree. (Yes, it's that one.) I hope you have the best birthday yet, and remember that we're all "with" you today!   
> Much love and hugs and Rangers and Hobbits, Moit.

Fresh from the bath, Frodo snuggled into the warmed and freshly washed sheets with a book in his lap. The lantern beside the bed cast a warm glow about the room. He felt pleasantly sleepy, but not enough to sleep quite yet. He opened to the marked page in his book.

He barely registered the footsteps in the hall and the door to the bedroom opened. Frodo acknowledged the noise absently and kept reading.

Faramir stalked in, looking scruffy and dirty in equal proportions to Frodo's freshly scrubbed skin and damp hair. He dropped his sword and practise armour on the chair.

Frodo turned a page in his book.

Faramir narrowed his eyes. He walked forward, footfalls sounding heavy on the stone floor. He crawled onto the bed in his boots and uniform, uncaring of the way he smudged or mussed the blankets. He crept forward until he was kneeling over Frodo, an expectant look on his face.

“You reek.” Frodo wrinkled his nose, looking up at Faramir's dirt-smudged face with displeasure.

“I want you,” Faramir said, lowering himself enough to rub his obvious erection against Frodo's thigh.

“I'm tired,” Frodo replied petulantly, turning his face to the side. “And you need a bath.”

“I need satisfaction,” Faramir countered, running a calloused hand down Frodo's cheek.

“Not tonight.” Frodo lifted his book in a vain attempt to read, but Faramir was not so easily discouraged.

Faramir began laying a series of kisses down Frodo's neck, not enough to physically impede his reading, but enough to distract him. Frodo managed to ignore him until Faramir's hand slid up his blanket-covered thigh. Frodo gave a small sigh of what could be interpreted as either annoyance or pleasure.

Faramir pushed the blankets down, exposing Frodo's full nightshirt-clad form. He sat back on his heels and pulled one of Frodo's large feet onto his lap. Starting at the heel, he pressed his thumbs in a circular motion. Slowly, he worked his way up the arch of Frodo's foot.

Faramir glanced up at Frodo as he switched feet, but still no reaction from the hobbit. His own erection was pressing painfully and insistently against the seam of his trousers. If he didn't get some relief soon, he was likely to take matters into his own hands.

He began rubbing Frodo's other foot, taking great care to press into the spots of the tough skin he knew Frodo found especially pleasing.

Unable to resist any longer, Frodo snapped his book shut. “Have you any idea what that does to me?”

Faramir grinned ferally. “I have a mind of what I would _like_ to do to you. Perhaps you would be so kind as to oblige a Gondorian Captain, Master Hobbit.”

“I should like to know what benefit I-- oh!”

While Frodo was talking, Faramir had inched his nightshirt up his thighs and descended upon him, taking the hobbit's entire cock into his mouth. Frodo's back arched as he thrust up into Faramir's warm mouth. He _really_ hadn't been in the mood, but he certainly was now.

He twisted his fingers in Faramir's sweat-damp hair, deliberately ignoring a thought about how wet it was. The sound of Frodo's panting filled the quiet of the room. Faramir had wrapped his mouth around Frodo in a tight seal. But before Frodo could find release, Faramir pulled away. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Frodo looked up at the Man with eyes dilated so far the blue was nearly swallowed by black.

“Turn over,” Faramir said, his voice low.

Frodo snagged the jar of oil from the bedside table before he complied. He pillowed his head on his hands and raised his backside tantalizingly in the air. His nightshirt pooled about his shoulders, leaving his lower half bare to Faramir's heated gaze. He looked over his shoulder and grinned impishly.

“I'd like to get back to my book, if you don't mind.”

Faramir pursed his lips, his gaze heavy. He unlaced his leggins steadily. Surprisingly, his hands were steady. He slicked himself with oil and wiped the excess on the bed. The sheets would need to be washed again, anyhow.

Taking Frodo's slim hips in his hands, Faramir pressed the tip of his cock against the crease of Frodo's backside. The Hobbit gave a bit of a start. Most times Faramir prepared Frodo first, but tonight he could not wait. He pushed forward, seeking that hot little hole.

When Frodo pushed back against him, the well-greased head of his cock slipped inside Frodo's body. They both gave a groan at the feeling. Faramir eased himself completely inside with several gentle thrusts. Fully seated, he draped himself over Frodo's back.

Faramir buried his face in the damp curls at the base of Frodo's neck, inhaling the scent of his soap, and underneath it all, the scent of his lover. He knew he wouldn't last long at this rate.

Beneath him, Frodo shivered pleasantly at the feeling of Faramir's warm leather breastplate snug against his back. Sex with Faramir could be incredibly satisfying if the Man was too excited to remove all (or any) of his clothing. He really did smell, but it was such an odour of _male_ and Faramir that Frodo found himself inhaling the scent in great gulps.

Faramir's breath was hot and ragged in Frodo's ear. He was getting close. He reached beneath Frodo's pliant body and took hold of his straining erection. He came suddenly, stroking Frodo with an iron grip as he rode out his climax.

Faramir pulled out of Frodo's body, intent on finishing the Hobbit, but Frodo had other plans. Instead, he took himself in hand, spending quickly over the sheets. Faramir watched with satisfaction and a measure of desire. Had he not found release a moment earlier, that image alone would probably have been enough to send him over the edge.

Faramir dragged himself up off the bed, limp cock hanging satisfied from the vee of his leggings. Frodo rolled over, mindful of the wet spot he'd created. He pulled his nightshirt off and cleaned himself with it. Then he tossed it to the floor. He watched with satisfaction as Faramir stripped himself of his uniform. With each piece of clothing that fell, Frodo was treated to more of that freckled peaches and cream skin.

Finally nude, Faramir crawled back into bed, pulling Frodo against his chest. He covered them both with the blankets.

“You still need a bath,” Frodo sighed, inhaling deeply from the juncture of Faramir's neck and shoulder.

“Would you have me leave you to your book that I may have one?” Faramir asked, feigning an attempt to get out of bed.

Frodo clutched at his arm. “I would not! My books cannot give me the satisfaction I receive from you.”

“Nor can a bath make me feel the way I do with you in my arms,” Faramir agreed, kissing the top of Frodo's head.

~Fin~


End file.
